No.
He can’t be here.
But then I hear Jake’s voice, tight and controlled. “Coach.”
Ice floods my veins.
Heavy footsteps follow.
And then my father steps into the room.
He looks like he came straight from the rink, coat still on, shoulders squared. His presence fills the space instantly. His eyes are sharp and furious and locked onto me like I’m a target.
“Talia,” he snaps.
The sound of my name in his voice is enough to make my throat close up.
He doesn’t look at Jake at first. Not really. Jake is just a shape in the doorway.
My father’s focus is on me.
“What are you doing here?” he demands, each word like a punch. “What is going on?”
I force my face into something cool and neutral.
Like my entire nervous system isn’t screaming.
“Hi, Dad,” I say brightly. Too brightly.
His eyes narrowimmediately.
“Do not ‘hi, Dad’ me.” His gaze flicks around the house, taking in the entryway, the flowers on the table, the faint smell of food, the way the place feels lived in.
His nostrils flare.
Then he turns his glare back on Jake.
“And you,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Explain.”
Jake stands perfectly still, shoulders squared, jaw tight. He looks like a man bracing for impact.
“Coach,” Jake says again, calm but controlled. “This isn’t—”
“It is exactly what it looks like,” my dad cuts in.
My stomach flips.
Because what it looks like is the worst possible version of the truth.
I step forward quickly, trying to wedge myself between them in a way that doesn’t look like I’m choosing sides.
“Dad, you can’t just barge in here,” I say, aiming for firm.
He whips his head toward me.
“I can do whatever I want when my daughter is calling my captain ‘hubby’ in his house,” he snaps.
My cheeks burn.
